Gary Wiens and his new wife, Marie, lived in a newly built home with clean, soft carpet and firm furniture The tall windows in their first floor living room looked out over a wooden deck and a lot filled with leafy trees. When my wife and I were invited over, I was surprised to discover that living radically for God might not mean dressing in camel’s hair and eating locusts. Our one-bedroom apartment had windows that opened to the parking lot, and the income from my teaching job didn’t hold the promise of new homes or new furniture. My friends were young married couples and single people struggling to live whole-hearted, fully-committed lives in support of Mike Bickle and the International House of Prayer — Kansas City (IHOP-KC), and none of us thought that lifestyle included going home each night to a beautiful kitchen or a bathroom with real tile.
Gary was a highly respected champion of IHOP-KC from its inception. He was also an elder statesman in the Third Wave Charismatic Movement, a contemporary of the Vineyard’s founder, John Wimbur. Gary would regale us with stories from this time period: kneecaps being regenerated by the power of God and videos in which giant angelic beings made appearances in the background of church services. He would regularly speak at IHOP-KC’s Sunday morning extension, Forerunner Christian Fellowship, focusing on “Papa”, the name he used to address God the Father, and the Bridal Paradigm. His eyes disappeared into two tiny slits whenever he smiled, his face overtaken by the enthusiasm of the expression. He exuded a calm warmth and confidence that was a startling contrast to the way we felt most of the time as we tried in vain to live up to the standards of discipline and focus commanded by Mike Bickle.
Marie was Gary’s new wife, a business woman whom he had met shortly after the death, from cancer, of his first wife, Mary. Marie had been an entrepreneur most of her life; at this time she was working on a new venture featuring cookies on a stick. One of the stories she told us was how she had correctly predicted the rise of IHOP’s (the restaurant) stock through a prophetic word and made a nice sum of money in the process. Both Gary and Marie seemed to be intimately connected to the leadership of IHOP-KC, yet at the same time curiously exempt from the pressures of poverty and asceticism that dogged the majority of the young intercessory missionaries at the ministry. The Wiens didn’t live in luxury or excess; they simply lived with the amenities that middle-class Americans can afford. Somehow, Gary had leveraged his work, involvement, and influence into a career within the Charismatic Movement that actually supported himself and his family. This was astonishing to me.
Gary had just published a new book, Reaching Your Power Potential, and he and Marie had taken it upon themselves to invite a group of young people over to study the book and grow in their faith. Though I didn’t have a relationship with the Wiens, friends of ours had somehow gotten to know them, dog-sitting their giant labradoodle a couple of times, and through them we secured our spot at the table for this study. It felt like a great honor to be involved with the Wiens’ because the year or two we had spent at IHOP-KC had brought us nowhere near this close to the corridors of power within the organization. Each Sunday morning, and many times during the Encounter God services on Friday and Saturday nights, we were bombarded with stories of God’s moves of power, his election of devoted people to prominent ministries, his endless supply of money, and the amazing coincidences that placed Bickle in positions of influence among church and secular leaders around the world. My experience differed dramatically from the stories told on the stage, and I longed to be recognized and given a platform because of my devotion to Bickle’s teachings. Perhaps this study was going to be the first step of an eventual ministry I could secure for myself.
The cover illustration of Gary’s book featured a man whose dress shirt had begun to open, revealing a Superman logo underneath. The book was about how to live naturally supernatural. In other words, how to tap into the power of the Holy Spirit in one’s everyday life so his power would manifest itself in prophecies, supernatural signs, and healing. Since coming to IHOP-KC, we had been inundated with stories of prophecies that came true, money that showed up unannounced and unexpected, and healings that happened for desperate people. However, these were just stories — either from a long time ago, or far away, or told by a person we didn’t really know. Everyone in the Wiens’ house wanted so badly for God to show himself to him or her as real, powerful, and relevant; we wanted to be able to tell our own stories. Gary claimed he knew how to make this happen, and we were excited to hear the secret.
This secret, it turned out, really wasn’t much of a secret at all. One just had to do it. “It” meant to step out in faith, pray for someone, and eventually get comfortable doing that. Gary taught us a model for how to pray that was pragmatic, matter-of-fact, and free from hype. Maybe if we just prayed for people in as much of a pressure-free situation as we could create, God would step in and do the miracles we were all hoping to see. First, we would simply interview the person, asking simple questions like, “What’s your name? Where does it hurt?” Depending on what they said, we would ask if we could put our hand on them, remembering to always choose a place close to the pain that was still an appropriate place to touch someone. For a boy praying for a girl, put your hand on her shoulder. Don’t go lower than that. If you’re a boy praying for a boy, a hand on the knee might be appropriate. Once you’ve got a hand in the appropriate place, it’s time to pray. This is the time for a short prayer, something like, “Heavenly Father, please take away the pain in Joe’s foot.” No loud voices, just even and calm. Ask the person how they feel: “Do you feel anything? Is the pain getting better?” Pay attention to how you feel; warm hands mean the Spirit is moving. Depending on the reply of the person, keep praying in the direction you want this to go, “Thank you, Lord. Keep taking away the pain,” or “Father, we trust you. We know you heal us. Heal Joe’s foot. Right now.”
We practiced with each other. One night a young woman in the group opened up about the problems she and her husband were having getting pregnant. They had tried many different infertility treatments, but pregnancy eluded them. It was heart-breaking. She cried as she talked about her emotions, her struggle to find joy in God in the midst of everything she was going through. We gathered around her, our hands in the appropriate places, and prayed for her according to the model. She kept crying as one-by-one we took turns commanding God to heal her, asking how she felt, and sharing any prophetic pictures that came to mind. I had a picture in my mind of a waterfall pouring over her, God’s love to comfort and heal her. Nothing extraordinary happened. The prayer time ended with her wiping her eyes, gathering her belongings and husband, and leaving quietly.
Toward the end of our time together, the Wiens’ told us we were about to use our new skills in a powerful way. God had been speaking to prophetic people in the organization that the long-awaited revival was about to break out in Kansas City. The spark that would set the city on fire would be the physical healing of two prominent members of IHOP-KC. All we had to do was unite in prayer and expectation.
This situation felt familiar. Decades ago, Mike’s brother, Pat, was paralyzed in a high school football accident. The star athlete found himself in a fight for his life, and Kansas City rallied around him. Miraculously, it seemed, Pat survived the initial shock of the injury. However, he was confined to a bed. The great prophet, Bob Jones (not connected with the Christian fundamentalist university), promised that God was going to “raise up” Pat, meaning he would heal him. Because Pat was already well-known in the area, his healing would be the start of the great End-Times revival. Time went on, however, and Pat remained paralyzed. He died shortly after we arrived at IHOP-KC. His death didn’t appear to usher in a revival, and the prophecies were reinterpreted.
But that didn’t matter to us; now, it was Terry and Jack’s turn. Similar to Pat, both men were quadriplegics as well as longtime attendees of IHOP-KC. Terry was a frail older man with a gray beard and thinning hair. He owned a warehousing operation and employed one of Mike’s sons. Jack was younger than Terry, probably in his 40s, and managed the media teams at IHOP-KC. He had a great shock of brown hair that swept back from a widow’s peak like Christian Slater in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. He seemed to have a little more movement in his upper body than Terry and could maneuver a wheelchair. I saw Jack often at the prayer room in IHOP-KC; he had a spot reserved for him.
The place chosen for the prayer times was Terry and his wife’s modest house on IHOP property. Driving up the dirt road and being ushered inside felt like being inducted into a secret society. Whereas anyone could walk inside the Prayer Room at IHOP-KC, this gathering was special. I had been invited; I was on an assignment. The interior of the house was pleasantly and sparsely decorated, more to accommodate Terry’s disability than to welcome the large number of people who began walking in the door. Terry’s wife was a thin, quiet woman with dark brown hair and rigid bangs who attended to Terry constantly. She was very practical, as if the constant care and attentiveness that was required to serve her husband had made her see life as a series of tasks rather than the grand adventure the enthusiastic, healthy young people who had been invited into her home believed it to be. As well as the 6–8 members of our little book study, other people who knew Terry and Jack were invited. I remember specifically a lady named Deb. She was an older woman with pure white hair, glasses, and a kind face. Later, when I was working a second job as a server at The Cheesecake Factory, I waited on her and a friend and she tipped me $20 on a $15 bill.
The mood inside the house was one of sober expectation. Once everyone had arrived, Gary opened the proceedings. He explained a little about the prophetic history of the promised revival and his desire to see Terry and Jack healed. As part of our prayer project, he had brought videos of one of his mentors, John Wimbur, teaching on healing. Wimbur had led the Vineyard Movement in the 80s and 90s, emphasizing worship, prayer, and supernatural healing. It was in these Vineyard meetings that Gary had witnessed the spectacular events he would recall to us.
People gathered around the television on couches and chairs and we began by watching John Wimbur, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, stroll slowly from side to side of a stage holding a microphone and teaching his audience about healing. He told stories of healings he had witnessed and participated in and exhorted people to “do the stuff”, his phrase for living out an authentic New Testament Christian life. He had a very low-key, business-as-usual approach to teaching about healing.
After the video, we wheeled Jack and Terry to the front of the room, gathered around them and placed our hands on their knees and shoulders, “safe places’’ as the Wiens had taught us. I put my hand on Terry’s upper back and was surprised at how thin and hard his muscles felt. We began praying for them, taking turns and asking God to heal them. Both men were obviously touched by this show of support and both cried quietly. When it was my turn to pray I closed my eyes and chose my words carefully. I tried to put myself in the most “faithful” frame of mind I could muster up — strengthening my inner convictions regarding God’s power to do anything he wanted to and remembering the stories of healings in the New Testament and Wimbur’s preaching. I did my best to not trip over my words and say the best kind of prayer that might be faithful enough, and humble enough, to get God’s attention. When I was done, the person next to me kept up the prayer circle and one-by-one everyone had a chance to pray for the two men. The prayers were quiet and powerful. Finally, the last person prayed and the prayer time was over. Gary asked Terry and Jack if they felt any different or if they could feel any more movement in their limbs. Terry said he felt warmth going up and down his body, but neither were healed in the spectacular way we were hoping for. That’s okay, Gary said, because we were going to keep this up for six more days.
For six more days, we faithfully gathered at Terry’s house to take turns praying for the two men. People took different shifts during the day, but most evenings everyone would turn up to watch John Wimbur teach on healing and Gary give a short message encouraging us to keep going. We also prayed for each other, shared testimonies and stories of God’s involvement in our lives, gave prophetic words, and generally enjoyed each other’s company, hanging out, eating, and enjoying the pleasant sensation of being involved in something bigger than ourselves with people more important and mature than us. Once Deb prayed for another member of the group in her prayer language, and it sounded very similar to Chinese. Every time I had heard someone speak in tongues, the person would use repeated phrases of staccato syllables that didn’t sound like any language I was familiar with. It was puzzling to hear a tongue that sounded as if it could be an actual language.
Finally, the last evening of the prayer vigil arrived. Our expectations were at their peak. Terry was once again wheeled into the center of the living room. People gathered around him, placing hands on his head, shoulders, back, knees and feet. Our training had taught us to be calm, but tonight there was an energy to our prayers that had not been there previously. We knew this had to be the night. Revival or bust.
A short time after we had started, Terry opened his eyes, looked up and motioned for his wife. She bent down near his head and he whispered something to her. Her eyes grew wide and she interrupted Gary and pulled him into a corner to talk to him. He came back to the group and softly asked Terry, “How are you feeling?”
“My chest feels tight,” Terry grimaced.
“I think I should call the ambulance,” Terry’s wife said, and it occurred to me that she had had to call the ambulance many times in care of her husband.
“Go ahead,” said Gary.
Minutes later, the first paramedic entered the house. He froze for a moment in the doorway, his eyes scanning the scene in front of him. Terry in his wheel chair in front of everyone. The couches and chairs filled with people facing Terry. Others hanging around in the corners of the house, standing or sitting on the floor. He recovered and with long strides walked over to Terry, four other paramedics following him through the door as people cleared a way for them. The first paramedic reached Terry and asked him, “How are you feeling?” We could hear him speak quietly to the young man, but his voice was tight and thin, “My chest is tight. My arms feel tight too.” One of the other paramedics was unfurling a blood pressure cuff and slipped it over Terry’s arm. The others arranged and unpacked various other instruments. Terry’s wife’s face was strained with anxiety. She pulled Gary aside. Shortly afterwards, Gary addressed the crowd as the paramedics attended to Terry, “I think we should leave and give Terry some space. Good night, everybody.”
Terry had had an anxiety attack, we found out later, not the heart attack we had been fearing. Our book study was over; the prayer vigil had been the culminating experience. I never spoke to Gary or Marie again, though I saw them infrequently in the prayer room or speaking on Sunday mornings. Not too long after that, they left to start a prayer room in the Northwest. The young woman we had prayed for to have a baby was diagnosed with endometriosis and eventually adopted.
I saw Jack in the prayer room often and the first couple of times I tried awkwardly to say hello. But we weren’t friends and the hellos eventually stopped. Years later, I passed by a little girl who was praying for him with her hand on his shoulder, her parents seated beside her. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
